An army officer for the past thirty-three years, Lord Bacchinore found out that he would have to be deactivating the warforged, and that the army would be retreating from the fertile Cairn Valley, where his ancestral estate is located, and that he was being demoted to a front line soldier all in one fell swoop. He hated the thought of deactivating the living, feeling constructs, but his superiors would surely have his head if he didn't return to them exactly the number of warforged on the troop roster. The lucky thing for him is that his command had 401 warforged, as opposed to the normal 400 to a battalion, and when the forms came to his desk, the requisition order had a checklist where 400 warforged were to be deactivated and returned to storage. He had the chance to save one warforged from his command. He racked his brain in agony deciding which warforged to save, and ultimately decided on a young sergeant who served as his personal bodyguard. This was
Farowan.
Farowan was told that he could go to one of two places and be safe from the shutdown: either the lawless border regions, now being overrun by monsters of every race, or the somewhat safer, but equally lawless
low precinct of
Talashir, the capital.